"We made it!"
He managed with Ralph's help to get into the engineer's seat.
"Mr. Griscom," said Ralph, "you're in bad shape. We can't get back the way we came, but if you could walk as far as the offices we might find a doctor."
"That's so, kid," nodded the old engineer, a little wearily. "I've got to get this junk and glassware out of my eyes if I run the 10.15 tomorrow."
Soon the advance stragglers of the curious crowd from the shops drew near. One little group was headed by a man of rather more imposing appearance than the section men in his train.
He was a big-faced individual who looked of uncertain temper, yet there were force and power in his bearing.
"Hello, there—that you, Griscom?" he sang out.
The engineer blinked his troubled eyes, and nodded curtly.
"It's what's left of me, Mr. Blake," he observed grimly.
Ralph caught the name and recognized the speaker—he was the master mechanic of the road.
"They're going to get the fire under control,
